


Frost

by Maulfan



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: Family, Gen, Hugs, Marriage does not take place, Not-a-douche!Laufey, Odin's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:35:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maulfan/pseuds/Maulfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laufey decides that he needs a stronger peace tie with Asgard after Thor's invasion. And a marriage with Odin's youngest will do nicely. Odin, perforce, agrees. Written for Norsekink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frost

**Author's Note:**

> Actual prompt:
> 
> For the damage Thor has done during his little romp to Jotunheim after his interrupted coronation, Laufey demands payment - payment in the form of Odin's youngest son as his bride.
> 
> Odin is then in the situation where if he refuses they are at war, but to accept would send Loki into bed with his biological father. For whatever reason, he figures marrying Loki off is the only way to go.

**Frost**

“Your boy sought this out,” Laufey said, voice cold. Accusing.

He was no longer as young as he had once been. Age crept up his body; weakened him like the icy wind whittled away the chiselled mountain peaks. And he knew, in every inch of his towering frame, that one day he would crack. He feared for his realm when that event occurred, for though he loved his heir—perhaps because, even—he knew Býleistr was not ready to face the politics that was rulership.

He blamed himself. Brooded on it, sometimes, as he sat on his darkened throne amidst the peace of the ice. But he’d been as hotheaded as Býleistr, as the mighty Odinson, in his youth; back when the world was young and it had seemed there was nothing he could not achieve if he tried. And what a wasted venture it had been, the brief decades of his misguided invasion to midgard, nothing gained and everything of value lost. 

It was impossible to give his son experience in politics in the harsh struggle for survival that was Jotenheim. There were no ambassadors. If others came, they came to plunder and kill. His sons knew only the truth of battle and the hard honour of blows and ice magic.

And so he feared for his realm if peace did not hold. Jotenheim had nothing. Was nothing, to those who did not love the ice, without the casket. For the casket was the only way to slip between realms and though the mages had been studying new routes for centuries they lacked the power and knowledge to slip more than a few through the interplanar cracks. And even these were in known locations. No surprise, unless an ally were at work on the inside. Like their mysterious Asgardian traitor...

No... Laufey hated to acknowledge the truth but he needed Asgard’s indifference. And if this was what was going to happen when the eldest Odinson took his rulership there needed to be a stronger tie for peace.

“You're right. But these were the actions of a boy. Treat them as such. We can end this together. Here. Now. Without any more bloodshed.”

The Allfather looked weary. He almost swayed on his magnificent steed and with sudden insight Laufey knew Odin was sick of war. Feared the possibility of it starting. For a moment of burning rage, that was enough to make him consider declaring war on the spot. It had been Laufey’s youngest who’d made that damnably ill timed comment, and he knew there was scant chance Helblindi would live. And the father in him wanted Odin to burn and burn and suffer with that same helpless loss, extended and multiplied across the whole of Asgard.

It was only a moment. The cold, logical part of him said that Jotenheim could only lose if they challenged their more powerful overlords. Býleistr might well be lost too. And there were other, equally effective ways, to get revenge. He held the power here and Laufey knew he’d be a fool to waste the chance.

He glanced sideways and raked his eyes briefly over the Asgardian fledglings.

The mighty Odinson, he who’d slain a great ice dragon with but one blow, looked mutinous. The woman looked determined. The fat one and the slant eyed ones were too busy holding up the wounded one to look much of anything. They’d welcome war, too young to know what it was their actions would induce.

And then his gaze flicked over the youngest Odinson. His face was... impassive. He looked only at the Allfather, but there was something hidden beneath Laufey couldn’t quite put his finger on. Fear? Anger? Not quite, perhaps. But Laufey remembered the almost desperate way he’d sued for peace before the mighty one had struck in response to an ill timed insult. He was handsome enough.

What more permanent link than marriage with Odin’s house? If the young Asgardian couldn’t, as a man, bear children, well, in time (a few thousand years) Laufey would probably trust him enough to allow himself to be taken; frost giants, after all, were of both genders and none. And if not, well, it was no matter. He had an heir.

“Your son’s actions were childish Allfather,” Laufey began, “But they have proven to me no mere truce will ensure peace remains between our realms. Moreover, your thoughtlessness in allowing your son to violate our treaty has taken from me my youngest son.”

Odin’s eye widened ever so slightly. Good. He understood the severity of the situation.

“I will take as wergild your son in return. A son for a son, and a bond between our realms no mere oversights will shatter,” Laufey finished, marking with satisfaction the way Odin’s face blanched in disgust.

The eldest son looked confused. But he’d looked that way since his father hadn’t taken on Laufey’s army by himself so maybe that was his natural state. The younger was apparently sharper of wit, for his eyes had widened in horror.

“No,” Odin said, stern and resolute.

And now the boy’s eyes were fixed, green and wide with half dawning hope, on his father’s face. Had he expected to be cast aside on the spot? 

“Think carefully, Allfather. I do not demand your heir, though I will accept him if you offer him. I demand only one of your children, in recompense for your violation of the treaty and the murder of my own youngest. If you do not do this how many other treaties you have will be held to be as worthless as your son as proven this one to be?”

Odin visibly wavered.

Yes, Laufey thought vindictively, think on that. Peace in nine realms or your youngest son. The king at war with the father. 

“Father you aren’t... aren’t actually considering this?” the blond one rumbled.

“Silence Thor,” Odin barked.

“But frost giants are monsters! What care has any being in the nine realms for what those beasts think of us? We cannot just hand over Loki!” Thor shouted.

Laufey’s eyes flashed red fire. Odin’s did also.

“I said silence boy. Have you not done enough?” the Allfather said in a tone of withering contempt.

Thor subsided into frowning silence.

Loki seemed to hunch his shoulders, as though shielding himself from a chilling wind. But that might just have been because it was Jotenheim and he was, rather than any emotional turmoil.

Silence reigned.

Something on Odin’s face shifted. A vaguely haunted look about his sole eye. Loki stiffened, swallowing sharply.

“You want me to replace your son? To be as a second son to you?” Loki asked.

Something about the half demanding, half desperate undertone suggested he knew all too well he was clutching at straws.

“My wife. Or husband if you will, given that you are restricted to just the one gender, though you will likely never fulfil the male role in our relationship,” Laufey said with vicious bluntness, noting well the lack of shock on the Asgardian’s sickened, pale face.

“I refuse,” Loki said.

So there was some backbone in him. Laufey smiled thinly.

“You have no choice,” Odin said abruptly, and then added in a gentler voice, “My son, if we do not do this, our word will be void in all the nine realms. We will have war not just with Jotenheim but with the other seven as well. This is a duty you must perform, for all our sakes.”

Loki’s young face twisted in a sneer.

“So I am just a sacrifice am I? Another offering on the altar of Thor’s carelessness? I think not. I will not lie with such a one for all the peace in the nine realms,” he took a defiant step back and green fire began to swirl at his fingertips. 

Laufey’s eyes widened with a mixture of greed and awe. No words. No rituals. A true sorcerer. There were rumours the younger son had been a trickster, but _this_... He’d been lucky indeed in his choice.

And then Odin had raised his staff and knocked his errant son to the ground in a pulse of radiant light.

Loki gasped as the spell shattered, and pushed himself shakily to his feet. He looked desperately ready to try again.

“You will obey me, even if I must bind you magic for this to be so,” Odin said awfully.

Loki froze. His face went red then very pale and suddenly the anger vanished, locked away behind walls of steel.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said flatly.

“Bother I...” Thor said in equal parts anger and remorse.

“Let this be a lesson to you in self control,” Odin said, glaring at his eldest, “For others suffer the consequences of your brashness.”

“Our business is concluded,” Laufey said, “Leave the boy here and go; we will be married in the temple tonight but you are not invited. I’m sure you understand. I will consider this instance of our breach of treaty forgiven as soon as the ceremony is complete.”

“Father I refuse to let Loki be--,” whatever else Thor was going to add was abruptly cut off as he, the four warriors and the Allfather were swept up in the white-gold beam that was the bifrost.

Loki remained alone, laughably small on the edge of the precipice and surrounded by hulking warriors over twice his height and three times as broad. He didn’t step backwards but something about the wide eyed look he favoured the gap with suggested that if he could have fled that way he might have. A moment later the little prince squared his shoulders. Pride fell about him like a cloak; it was all he had left.

“King Laufey,” he stated smoothly, green eyes cold.

Laufey favoured him with a look of faint distain. Too small. To young.

“Get him ready for the ceremony,” he ordered, “I would attend to my son.”

He turned away, trudging heavily over the snow. It was only a few minutes but with every step his heart sank a little more inside his chest. For what could survive a full front on hit from that hammer followed by a bruising collision with the mountainside and a forty foot drop?

He began to jog over the ice, only to be forced to slow down when he arrived at the rubble strewn ground, all which remained of the palace courtyard after the lightning had struck. He could have screamed at the delay. But at last he was there and kneeling next to the body of his son. Helblindi was so still Laufey didn’t notice at first the shallow rise and fall of his massive chest, crushed as it had been by the thrice cursed hammer.

“F... father,” he choked out brokenly, a trickle of icy blue blood escaping the corner of his lips, “I... didn’t mean to... war... father, sorry.”

Laufey gripped his hand, too tight for comfort and Helblindi managed a weak squeeze, more spasm than anything else.

“Is that your son?” came the smooth tones of his would-be consort from beside him. 

Belatedly, Laufey wondered how he’d gotten there. He didn’t care. He wanted to lash out at the Asgardian for just being there alive when his own son was dying; to smash in the too-long hair and too small face, only just level with his own when he was doubled over with grief. For _being_ there to see his weakness.

“You said he was dead,” Loki observed, unaware or uncaring of the danger he was in.

“You think there is the slightest chance he will live through this?” Laufey bit out, his unoccupied left fist spasming.

He looked at the pale face beside him and saw... not pity, perhaps, but empathy? He didn’t care. He turned back towards his son.

“Know that you are forgiven, my son,” he said, “I am proud of you. I am always proud of you.”

Helblindi’s red eyes were growing vacant but his hand twitched again, one more time. A tear fell, crystalline and pure, onto Helbindi’s face. It bounced off, vanishing into the snow.

From the corner of his eye, barely acknowledged, Loki shifted, face shadowed by some distant memory. His mouth thinned as though he’d swallowed a foul tasting brew; bitter and sour.

“I am not very gifted at the healing arts,” Loki offered, reluctant but compelled by some force Laufey did not understand, “but if you want...” he trailed off, vaguely unsure.

Laufey resolutely didn’t allow hope to blossom.

“They require touch,” Loki clarified, “A sort of energy transfer. In theory anyway. They worked on my-,” he broke off, “but not on my brother. I... they may not work.”

“His touch will burn you. He has not the self awareness to suppress it,” Laufey forced himself to say, for what good would it do if the little sorcerer died from frostbite for nothing? 

“No father should have to watch his children be taken away so cruelly,” Loki said, voice distant, heavy with remembered grief, “Under the circumstances, I will take the risk. I seem to have rather an odd reaction to your cold anyway.”

And then the little prince was bending down and splaying one fine boned hand across Helblindi’s chest. Almost immediately three things happened.

A green fire welled up underneath the small palm, Loki’s face went grey with sudden weariness and his hand was suddenly, impossibly, Jotun blue. It crept up to his wrist, like lichen up a rock fall, slow, implacable. There was a distant popping as ribs cracked into place and a squelching gurgle as lungs filled and were restored and organs shifted into their correct locations. The blue crept up over the pale face, over ceremonial scars Laufey remembered from over a thousand years ago as though he’d carved them yesterday. 

Finally Loki took his hand away. He was staring at it, as though marvelling at the blue. And then the Asgardian—no Jotun—prince collapsed in a crumpled heap on the frozen earth. The blue faded from his skin like so much dye and his face beneath was pale. Magical exhaustion.

Life force for life force. The spell was an ancient one, designed only to work between members of the same race. Small wonder the boy hadn’t managed to make it work for the Asgardians. If Jotenheim had had sorcerers Laufey would have forced them to perform the transfer, but the last had been Fárbauti and he’d died during the War.

But Joten ice mages had neither the skill nor the knowledge for such things. 

“Father,” Helblindi said, sitting up, “I feel... I am _well_. What...?”

Laufey wasn’t, on the whole, a demonstrative parent in public. He made an exception, scooping Helblindi into a quick hug.

“My son,” he said, “Your brother healed you. My son is _alive_.”

“...Býleistr?”

“No. Loki,” Laufey said, loosening his hold on his son and bending down to pick up Loki.

“The Asgardian prince is my brother?” Helblindi sounded borderline appalled.

“Not Asgardian,” Laufey clarified, “My son who was taken from the temple when Odin Allfather stole the heart of Jotenheim.”

Laufey suddenly stiffened. Odin who’d known who the boy was and Odin who’d been prepared to give him in marriage to his own father. He was hit by a wave of disgust so intense he wanted to be ill. Wanted to march up to the Allfather and give him a punch in the face long overdue. But he couldn’t. Ice mage though he was, be couldn’t slip into Asgard past Heimdall. All he could do was tighten his clasp on his lost eldest and swear there was no way he would willingly let the Allfather anywhere near him.

It was easy to be protective when his son was limp and small in his arms and his other son, who it had seemed must die from his injuries, was walking tall and strong beside him. He suspected it would be harder when the prickly prince, who viewed jotuns as monsters, woke up and was informed of his heritage.

OoOoOoOoO

In the event, Loki slept for full week (which Laufey used to send a messenger through to the Allfather respectfully informing him that as Laufey’s youngest was, in fact, not dead, no marriage was necessary to keep the treaty, and politely adding that Loki would, as Laufey’s eldest son, be staying with his father).

When Loki awoke, he was confronted by the intimidating sight of three huge blue giants crowding about his bed. To his credit he didn’t shrink back on the pillows but his eyes widened comically and he was forced to swallow once before he could offer:

“Good morning, your majesty.”

Laufey had meant to break the news gently, but Helblindi darted forward before he could react and scooped Loki up in a hug.

“Thank you, brother, for healing me,” he said with badly timed honesty.

“... brother?” Loki said weakly, eyes darting helplessly towards Laufey for inspiration, “I thought...” he flushed faintly, unable to continue.

“Half brother, I suppose,” Helblindi corrected blithely, “But it’s rather a pain to remember to keep on saying the ‘half’.”

And then the truth came out. Piece by garbled piece, with Laufey and Helblindi and even Býleistr chipping in to explain the ‘right’ version of events.

It hurt, in a way, to see the dawning horror on Loki’s face when he was told that ‘no it isn’t a curse or a magical ward’. To see the way those pale fingers clenched in the blankets when Laufey described his search of the temple from floor to roof for his little son when he was gone from the safe, frozen bedroom Laufey had left him inside for safekeeping. When Laufey said ‘you are my son’. Anger. And finally a flicker of horror, swiftly concealed, which blanketed his emotions like a snowdrift buried a wolf in a blizzard, as he put two and two together and realised just what Odin had consigned him to. 

“You can let go now. If you want,” Loki said to the massive blue giant hugging him as carefully as he’d have cradled some delicate carving.

“Actually, I like hugs. Everyone else says they’re too old for them,” Helblindi rumbled, “So if it’s all the same I’d like to continue. Think of it as making up for five hundred years of missed hugs. Only colder and not so gentle as you’re probably used to.”

Loki didn’t quite relax into the hug but he didn’t squirm to escape it either. 

“To be perfectly honest, I don’t actually get hugs,” Loki admitted after a moment, voice tellingly blank, “My bro—Thor used to joke when we were younger; he said it was because affection was reserved for true warriors with honour.” 

His laugh was forced. No one laughed with him.

“Aren’t you a mage?” Býleistr asked, frowning.

“A sorcerer. Therein lies the problem,” Loki agreed, frowning.

“But... to be a member of the true Seidr... we haven’t had one since...,” Býleistr trailed off.

Loki’s eyes flicked upwards over Helblindi’s arm, trying to read that alien face.

“That’s a good thing here?” he demanded sharply.

“Indeed my son. Your father was one of the greatest at that craft, ere he was killed in the war,” Laufey said, and added, catching Loki’s frowning glance at his hulking sons, “I married again. He died a century ago in a dark elven raid.”

“Oh,” Loki said in a small voice, absorbing that. Helblindi and Býleistr frowned in memory.

Silence reigned for a full minute.

Loki broke it.

“I cannot just forget a thousand years of Asgard,” he admitted, “It is... I’ve never _been_ worthy you see. Father... trickery is not... A true Aesir is honest in all things, which I seldom am when it benefits me more not to be so. And I am too short, aren’t I, for a frost giant?”

Laufey wanted to punch something (or an Odin-sized someone). He moved more closely to the bed, wondering just how much worse things might have been if his son had been his wife when he’d made the realisation. Just a touch less compassionate at the sight of a father’s grief; a fraction less accepting that jotuns were not entirely monsters.

Helblindi reluctantly released his little-older half-brother. Laufey stepped into the gap and rested a massive paw across his runt’s frail shoulder.

“You are my son. Even were you twice as small and a _grocer_ you would be worthy of being my son,” he said, surprising a splutter of laughter from Loki, “And I love you as such. No father should have to lose his son you said; thanks to you I have three where I would have had one. No father could be more proud.”

Loki’s eyes were huge. But a faint smile wavered on his lips, as though he’d wanted this for years and yet was unable to believe it was true. Then:

“I guess the wedding is off then,” he said.

Horrified grunts from his new brothers. And one longsuffering groan from Laufey who had been secretly hoping to keep that part of proceedings quiet for as long as possible.

“Now that, father, is a part of the tale I need to hear,” Býleistr said. 

The End


End file.
